the little things that matter
by winteredspark
Summary: /'Sorry,' Sam says, her fingers practically non-existant as they press against his shoulders, 'I don't teach sex ed. Not to friends.' She doesn't stop him from prying her shirt up, up and over her head, however./ Or, Sam is a bad liar. Melanie's POV.


**the little things that matter**

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**I haven't written iCarly in awhile, and I miss it, so here's this. Just a little oneshot about Seddie from Melanie's perspective. Lemme know what you think :)**

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><p>See, Melanie's been watching them for some time now. It's not hard to do when you have the perfectly wavy hair, eyes twinkling blue and clothes frosted with pink glitter. When everyone expects you to be the girl attending the fancy boarding school, learning proper manners and the skill of missing out on crucial elements in one's surrounding life, it's not hard to slither in and grasp the details.<p>

It's not hard to see the little changes in her twin sister, the way her palms flatten and fingers curl around another invisible hand, or how her cheeks seem to always be flushed with a rosy color that might just resemble a sheen of blush (she claims never to wear). See, they're twin sisters, and Melanie knows just how her sister behaves. Melanie know how she hides behind grubby jeans as her persona and only reluctantly curls her blonde hair once she notices that Carly - the best friend she loves more than anything, astonishingly so - getting all the attention again. She knows how her sister pretends to be the laziest person alive in public to get attention from her closest friends, or anyone really, while at home she can manage anything with a recipe. You know how she puts off applying to college because she's waiting for Carly or Freddie to say that they'll take a year off to stay here with her, so she can _stop them from leaving_.

But most of all, she's memorized the way her sister looks after a break-up: lips permanently tugged down at the very corners so it's nearly unnoticable, eyes coated in black liner that won't enhance those sparkling blue eyes the way a dark blue liner will, lips chapped when normally they're coated in a thin layer of gloss. She remembers the way Sam throws herself into iCarly so the rest of the world will disappear, how she'll return to verbal abuse against someone who "deserves it" instead of physical abuse. She remembers the way Sam's body seems to cave in on itself just a bit, like she's suddenly taken to carrying around the Encyclopedia Britannica in her backpack.

Her sister isn't acting like that now.

The day that she broke up with Freddie the front door slammed so violently it sent the walls shaking, and she flung herself into the couch. She holed herself up in the living room, biting her mother and Melanie's heads off if they even came near. The remote remained clenched in her fist for hours on end every day, the channel frozen on Degrassi. For two weeks she remained in that unresponsive state, her phone lying off on the splintered side table.

It's only been a month since their break up, and here they are now, on "Sam's" couch - because she refused to leave the house and he's a pushover. There are popcorn bits littering the floor, and Freddie is trying to wipe strawberry popsicle off of his freshly pressed shirt. Sam is laughing so hard that the tears are rolling down her cheeks, and little by little her face slips down towards the crook in Freddie's neck. Neither of them seem to notice as they cuddle, and over the blankets, their fingers tangle tightly, brutally.

_I hate you_, Sam says, shoving a grape popsicle into her mouth and wiping her fingers on his shirt. Her fingers are curled rather comfortably in his, body relaxed, and her eyes are a little too bright to resemble mourning.

_I hate you too, _he responds, bending over until his lips brush her neck.

_Sorry, _Sam says, her fingers practically non-existant as they press against his shoulders, _I don't teach sex ed. Not to friends. _She doesn't stop him from prying her shirt up, up and over her head, brushing those blonde, wavy locks of hair she's secretly proud of. Her smile is blinding as his bare skin presses against hers, three little words carved into her illuminated blue eyes.

Her sister has never been good at lying, Melanie thinks, slinking up the corridor so she won't disturb them. Sam just thinks she is.


End file.
